


Cease to Struggle

by Corycides



Series: Bullets and Arrows [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is that it gets easier, and once you've sinned what does it matter if it's the 30th time or the 1st</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cease to Struggle

**Author's Note:**

> A dark Valentine's coda to The Perceived Path: http://archiveofourown.org/works/653606

For Miles the problem was how quickly it all stopped being insane. It didn't take long at all for morning tea with Bass to become a normal part of his day and not a unpredictable punishment. His freedom was carefully calibrated – unarmed, guarded and with the headsman's sword hanging always over his loved ones necks – but as illusions went it was seductive. He couldn't escape, so why not pretend he didn't need to?

Didn't – as officers listened respectfully to his strategic advice and the soldiers saluted him – want to escape.

He stood in the window of Bass office and stared down into the courtyard, sipping his tea as he watched recruits spar on the cobbles. The tea tasted of milk and too-much sugar. After the first few days of using whisky instead of milk, Bass had raised an eyebrow and had all the bottles removed. There went sleep.

'What is it you want, Bass?' he asked.

'My brother back. Power. The world at my feet. Just the simple things in life.'

Miles shook his head, mouth twisting grimly. 'You never wanted this, Bass. It was always you backing me up, talking me down. How did you end up like this.'

'You left.'

'I left because of this.'

Bass came up behind him, pale face and slicked back hair floating in the glass next to Miles darker image, and slung an arm over Miles' shoulder. He kissed Miles neck, the wet suck of his lips tugging all the way down to Miles' traitor balls.

'Now you're back,' he said. 'And all's right with the world.'

That was a matter of opinion – although Miles' supposed that Bass' was the only one of those that mattered right now. Bass rested his chin on Miles shoulder and followed the direction of his gaze. Hair scraped back in a tight bun, Charlie stamped and blocked in line with the other recruits.

'She's good isn't she,' Bass said. 'Matheson to the bone, your niece. My Charlie.'

Miles was pretty sure he should have been bothered more by the reminder he'd fucked his closest living relative, than by the fact Bass sounded possessive when he talked about her. He licked his lips.

'Your hostage.'

Bass laughed and slapped his shoulder, leaving him at the window as he headed back to his desk. 'No, that would be Danny. He's Rachel's son, don't you think. Not much Matheson in him at all.'

'He's like Ben.'

That shut Bass up for a second. He was sorry his men had killed Ben. Not because they used to be friends, but because it upset Miles. It was inconvenient. Had Miles done this to his friend? Eroded him down until all he cared about was their damn M brand and power?

'Do you want to see her again?' Bass asked. Either an apology or a fuck your brother – under the circumstances it was hard to tell.

'...yeah,' Miles said.

It wasn't the first time he'd asked. Miles never said no.

******

Miles twisted his hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he could kiss her hard, all tongues and scraped teeth. She bit his lips and hooked her legs over the bony jut of his hipbones, pulling him down and deeper. Her tan skin was flushed pink and damp with sweat, shining in the firelight. The after-shocks of her first orgasm fluttered against his shaft as he thrust into her.

It was the first time he'd fucked her in his bed. Bass had left them alone, as a reward for Miles good behaviour, so he could take his time. It didn't matter, no matter how hard he searched there was nothing of his brother about her. She was just Charlie, with her tawny skin, solemn eyes and the way she folded her lip between her teeth when she was about to come. If he'd met her somewhere else, he'd not even have known who she was.

Not that he cared, not any more. Why deny himself what he wanted – ached for – when he'd already committed the sin? What made three (four, five...) times worse than once? It wasn't as if he'd be any good for her even if he wasn't her blood. He was too old, too battered, too fucked up. He'd brought her brother into danger, and put them all at Monroe's mercy.

Except he could drown himself in her body, the lingering taste of Bass on her skin and the wet readiness between her thighs, and forget all that.

He cupped her breast, making her gasp as he scraped his callused thumb roughly over her tight nipple. She squirmed at the touch, the flex of her wet, slick sex around his cock dragging a fractured string of curse words out of him. So she did it again, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rubbed her hips against him in tormenting circles.

There were slat-like bruises on her thighs and ribs. Just because she shared Bass' bed didn't mean that the trainers would go easy on her. That had always been the rule. Miles rolled them over she straddled him, watching her eyes widen at the unexpected motion. He stroked his hands over the stained skin, tracking how she could be better – how he could make her deadlier – as she set the pace on top of him. The long muscles in her thighs flexed as she rocked and under his palms her ribs moved her skin. Her nails scraped patterns into his chest, raking through his chest hair. She bit her lip – again – as she came.

Miles slid his hands down to her hips, gripping the soft curves, as pleasure twisted tight enough to snap something in his groin. His fingers dug in, deep enough to bruise, as he pulled her down onto his cock in rough, deep strokes. At the last minute he pushed her off, throbs of pleasure spilling his come all over her thighs.

She wriggled off him and sprawled out on the bed, flushed and well-fucked. For just a second, guilt got the upper hand on sated lust and Miles asked, 'Does it ever bother you?' She looked up at him curiously, lips bruised from his kisses. 'That we're related?'

'Not enough to stop,' she said. 'You?'

He curled his hand around her neck and pulled her in for a kiss, softer this time. She touched his jaw with soft fingers and fit herself comfortably against his body, curves against wiry, scarred muscle. 

‘Not enough,’ he admitted, hating himself. Self-loathing was a lot easier than self-control – of denial. ‘Would you fuck me if Bass didn’t tell you to?’  
Her hair trailed over his chest as she rested her chin on his shoulder. The lines of her delicate face were thoughtful, her mouth pursed slightly. ‘Maybe now, not before. It gets...easier?’  
She really was Matheson to the bone, Miles thought wearily.


End file.
